


Morning Sunshine!

by Original_Cypher



Series: The Moonrise Café series [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, mentions of others - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:53:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Original_Cypher/pseuds/Original_Cypher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU.</p><p>This is a sequel to The Moonrise Café. Go read that one first if you haven't, or else this won't make sense.</p><p>"They've hit the two weeks mark thirty six hours ago. He's given himself twenty-four more until he freaks out enough to go and <i>ask</i> Gerald for news. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Sunshine!

**Author's Note:**

> So... popular demand has made me think back on this and tadaa... an unplanned sequel happened. It took some time to polish to a point where I am not ashamed to post it.
> 
> I hope you like it! :)

One of the good things about the Moonrise Café is that Stiles is his own boss. When Scott is in town for a day, he can shift around schedules to make game night last until the wee hours of morning. They're not eighteen anymore. They can't just get up from twenty minutes of sleep and soldier on through a full day of lectures. Today, Stiles is particularly satisfied with the idea that he can go back to bed after he locks his front door back behind his best friend. While Scott is probably going to snore his way through the scenery and wake up at the last stop, as per usual.

“Say hi to your beautiful wife for me. Oh, and tell her we get nothing but laudatory reviews on her pot roast recipe. I will never divulge, but will forever be grateful. She’s even credited. It’s called ‘Ally’s Secret’.”

“Aww… She’ll love that.”

Stiles leans against his doorframe while Scott checks himself over. “You look fine. Not even rumpled.” It's always entertaining to see him when he goes straight to work after his train ride back home. Scott in a suit never fails to remind Stiles of Prom and the shenanigans they got up to back then.

The brunette gives him a crooked smile. “At least this time I don't have a controller shaped imprint in my cheek, right?”

Stiles laughs. “So, next time... three weeks from now?”

“Yeah. I can't remember which day. I'll let you know.” Scott snaps his fingers. “Oh! That reminds me. Lydia said to tell you she's finally done moving in with Danny.”

Stiles blinks in confusion. “... Dude, they started rooming together last year.” He says flatly. “You know how I remember? Because she said she didn't need movers when she had us. Her couch broke my back.”

“Indeed.” Scott cringes at the memory. “But she actually bought Champagne, like, the real stuff, to celebrate the emptying of her last cardboard box.”

“Wow.” Stiles smirks and toasts an invisible flute. “I'll drink to that. Tell her congrats.”

Scott pulled back a jacket sleeve to reveal a watch. “I gotta go if I don't want to miss my change.”

“Go, _Mr McCall_. Your kids would be lost without you.” Stiles lets himself be hauled into a hug, clapping the young teacher on the back. He's wearing nothing but sweat pants, but neither of them gives a damn. After all, twenty five years ago, they were already sharing bathtubs. And Legos. And if one of Stiles' neighbors happened to step out and see them right now? Well, at least this time they're sober, and Stiles' not wearing reindeer boxers.

“Hey.” Scott says quietly, and Stiles knows he's just about to say something loaded. Even if Scott's mission – since he accepted it upon his arrival – was code named _'Listen to me rant about Derek being in a danger I can't tell you about, then get my mind the fuck off it'_ , he has something to say about it now. “I'm sure it'll be over soon.” Stiles hasn't seen the object of his anxiety since that night at the Café. They've hit the two weeks mark thirty six hours ago. He's given himself twenty-four more until he freaks out enough to go and _ask_ Gerald for news. “Your man will be fine.” Scott sounds and looks confident as he pulls back and levels his best friend with a reassuring stare.

It's stupid. It's not like Scott can _know_ that or has any power over Derek’s fate, but it does make Stiles feel a little better. If only because of the wave of genuine affection for his bff that crashes over him at that moment.

 _Your man_. Psshh... If only Scott knew.

Stiles tries to reign himself in. He's not sure he knows anything either. He hasn't told Scott about the kiss they shared, or that he's come so close to blowing Derek's cover that he made up for it by becoming a part of the charade. Scott's been through enough in his life, Stiles doesn't want to make his friend concerned about his safety.

Yes, he and Derek shared a 'heat of the moment' slash 'cover building'... something. But neither of them were in the right state of mind at the time, and he honestly has no idea where this will lead when Derek is back. See? Progress. He didn't think 'if', this time.

“Really? You're not snarking at me for calling him your man this time?” Scott met Derek once. Upon seeing the easy friendship and banter between the cop and the bar owner, he had immediately decided that he was the one destined to sweep Stiles off his feet for good. Granted, Scott had good reason to peg Derek as his best friend’s type. It was Stiles, after all, that had declared on multiple occasions that the ideal man was a cross between Ian Somerhalder and Chris Hemsworth. But Derek didn't know that, and thankfully, Scott never shared Stiles' fantasies with him.

Stiles shrugs. “I just... you know, me, the guys, and the others at the precinct... He kind of is our man, at the moment.”

“You're all like sailors' wives, waiting for your boy to come back to shore safe and sound.”

“Something like that.”

Scott's hand is warm and grounding on his shoulder. It works nearly as well as Derek's had. “He'll be fine.”

“Okay.”

 

@@@

 

Derek feels observed from across the room when he slinks his back against the wall. He meets Jeantry's eyes, grinning when the man gives him a wink and returns to watching the Captain with a flagrantly fake fascinated expression. Derek is glad he got him for a handler in all of this. It's given him an opportunity to get to know him as someone beside 'the guy he keeps running into at the Precinct's gym and that spotted him that one time'. Jeantry's a really cool guy. Especially now that he basically gave his blessing to Derek skipping out on the party.

Naturally, the press conference was held without them. Even though Derek isn't an undercover cop by trade, putting his face on tv just after he helped bring down a couple of big time mob bosses wouldn't be a very smart move. Unless they wanted to save on his pension.

There were a lot of big fishes under the spotlights, though. The Mayor, the DA, the 21th Precinct Captain, Derek's old bosses from Vice, a whole bunch of guys from the DEA and the ATF. They spent the morning answering questions from reporters and congratulating each other. Now, Gerald is back from his 'polished tv speech' and giving a new round of praise to the team in front of the whole 21th crowd. This time around, he's much more specific and it feels too personal. The break room seems like the perfect escape. Derek is happy he's done a good job and, in all honesty, has to admit he appreciates the recognition. But such a celebration in public makes him uncomfortable. He's blushed enough for a lifetime.

Besides, he thinks the Gerald is a little biased. Yes, Derek is _his_ little worker bee and he's played a key role in the last weeks of the investigation, in the set up for the big fall, but other people from other departments and precincts have been involved for much longer. He just wants to toast at the clean takedown, and for everything to go back to normal.

He's not surprised when Darryl and Lybee are the ones to sniff him out. Dare knows how uncomfortable the public eye makes him. He grins widely at them. He finally got back to being Derek Hale last night. Those two were the first through the doors to hug the breath out of him when he stepped back into the station. “You look better.” Lybee informs him.

“A fourteen hour nap will do that to you.” Derek grabs three mugs and fires up the coffee maker. “I'm glad they didn't want me here at seven for the press conference.”

“You couldn't be on camera.” Darryl remarks.

“Yeah. We weren't either, they still made us be there.” Lybee huffs. “You know that means I have to wake up at five thirty? Josh had to take the kids to school this morning.”

That's it, first coffee goes to her. “They're mean. Mean, mean, mean.” Derek teases, pressing a kiss to her hair and a mug in her hands. He always loves how she looks like a grumpy teddy bear when she suffers from sleep deprivation. She grins quietly into her coffee because she knows him well enough to read his thoughts. It's hard to reign in his smile. “It's good to be back,” he says, handing Darryl another steaming cup.

“Aww...” His partner throws an arm around his shoulders. “We missed you too, buddy.” Again. Enough with the blushing already. “Sooo... you had time to go grab a coffee, yet?”

Derek slants him a look. Dare, master of subtext and barely veiled innuendo. He clearly isn't referring to the break room. Derek wouldn't assume he was even if he wasn't currently in the middle of pouring himself one. “Nope.” He makes the word pop, something’s he’s picked up from someone they’re apparently not mentioning by name.

Lybee is trying to hide a smirk into her cup, but it's gotten too big to even try. She exchanges an amused look with Darryl.

“Oh, so... Then you don't know they changed your drink at the Moonrise then?” Darryl says offhandedly.

“What?!” They killed off the Morning Sunshine! Special? Why would Stiles do that? Is it...  in observation of his absence? Like flying the flags at half-mast? It couldn't be. What if he really retired the drink? There's a chance he can get him to still make it for him, though, right? He's got a... privileged relationship with the owner. Kind of. Maybe?

“Well, I mean... he just changed the name.”

 _Hold up._ Derek narrows his eyes in suspicion. This smells like Dare messing with him.

“Yeah. What'd they call it?” Lybee frowns, then brightens and snaps her fingers at Derek. “Oh. That's right! The D Cup.”

Darryl snorts. “Totally overrated, too. Those pecs are not a D.”

Derek glares affectionately at his friends. “You guys are hilarious,” he deadpans. “I can't believe I missed you.”

“Fine. Maybe we just joked about it with Isaac.” Darryl squeezes Derek's neck in the crook of his elbow, and rubs his forearm against his partner's cheek. “You can finally shave, buddy."

"I dunno." Derek runs a hand on his face pensively. "I might have to take a poll on that."

"Looks good on you." Lybee muses. Her green eyes have a soft knowing twinkle in them.

Derek champs at the bit. Talking about the Moonrise has made the itch to go there even stronger. He needs to wait until later. When they're both off shift. And maybe give the Café a call. He doubts they've been warned of his safe return yet.

He's hit by the phantom sensation of pushing Stiles into the counter behind the bar, hand clamped on the curve of a hipbone that's haunted his thoughts ever since. He groans and sets his mug down. It's likely he won't be able to focus for the rest of the day.

“Hey.” Lybee is looking at him softly now. “Is it true you were... safe? Yesterday?”

Derek looks up to find the same expression mirrored on Darryl’s face. “Yeah.” Sort of. “I wasn't at the docks.” Only trained people raided the location, busting the Frogs and the Leones in the middle of a transaction. “When Jeantry and the guys from the ATF busted into the place we were at, there was some heat.” Read: a certain number of bullets exchanged. “But they whisked me away like I was one of Stephane's goons. I think they wrote me off as dead from the crossfire so they don't start asking questions if they don't hear from me in jail?”

There's a beat of silence. “Crossfire?”

Derek pulls Lybee against his side. “I'm _fine_.” He reassures her. “Right here. I'm back.”

“You better be.” She mumbles, looking every bit like a sulky little sister.

“Jesus. You guys are gonna make me cry.” Darryl pipes up. The look in his eyes when Derek grins up at him says he is just as relieved to have his partner back. But tension and sappy moments aren't things that happen in places like the 21th. Dare and him will probably get drunk someday soon and _then_ hug it out.

Darryl takes a cooling sip and clucks his tongue in disdain. His mug joining Derek's half full one on the counter. “This coffee is atrocious.”

Lybee sighs, and keeps hers. She looks tired. She ducks an eyebrow at Derek.

He smirks back. “It is. Isn't it?”

Minutes later, she’s rinsing the stale aftertaste with some orange juice to pack up on ingested energy when Gerald pokes his head in the break room. “Where's Hale?”

Darryl shakes his head, shrugging. “I dunno.”

Lybee doesn't even try to hide her smirk. The Captain huffs like a fond and exasperated father. “Uh huh. Well, if you get a hold of him... tell him he's got the rest of the week off, too.”

“I'm sure he'll appreciate that, Chief.”

 

@@@

 

One of the good things about the Moonrise Café is the cops. Stiles knows at least one of them that tastes just _awesome_.

“What about-... a press conference?” Stiles mumbles distractedly. His lips are getting stubble burn.

“... done.”

“No more... briefings? Or debriefings?” His chest heaves when Derek starts mouthing at his neck.

Derek grunts a negative, and Stiles finally manages to slip his hand under the cop's annoying layers. Holy shit, are those abs even _real_? He slides his hand into once carefully spiked hair to yank Derek back into a kiss. The taller man groans, falling forward hungrily, effectively trapping his prey against the wooden surface they’ve been leaning against.

Stiles’ never given enough thought to his front door. He feels grateful for its sturdiness now that it doesn't shake or creak with their... activities. It's not exactly its fault that they barely bothered to close it before Derek slammed him into it. Stiles relishes the sensation of a body pressing against him like this. It's been so long. It's massive, and instead of feeling constricting and claustrophobic, it's... good. It's not a trap, it's an embrace. It's safe. Because it's Derek. And all he wants to do is push back, get closer. He wants the strain of Derek's arms and hands, unwilling to let Stiles go, never to stop.

Derek really wants this. Him. How did Stiles get so lucky? How is it so perfect? How did they not do this before? He spreads his hands wide over everything he can reach, reeling every time it makes Derek shudder and kiss harder in response.

Stiles' chest is going to explode. Or cave in. They part, gasping for breath, and Derek rests his face against Stiles' cheek. Unable to stop himself, he quickly starts mouthing at Stiles' skin, trailing sideways to his ear, then behind it. Stiles twists his fingers into his shirt, fighting for purchase, when Derek finds the weak spot he has there and takes full advantage of it. The noise the younger man lets out is a cross between a wrecked moan and the dying rasp of his sanity.

Derek sobs quietly, grinding their hips together helplessly. He tears himself away with a gasp, hand sliding into Stiles' hair, cradling the back of his head, and then dives back for Stiles' kiss. He doesn't try to quell the small throaty noises he makes when their tongues drag along each other, or when Stiles nips at his lip. Derek is vocal and it just about kills Stiles. They both know it's deliberate. Derek can hide anything he wants. He's gone undercover. They wouldn't have let him if he didn't have the best poker face in town. But he lets go, now. He groans like a porn star and allows Stiles to feel him shiver in his arms because he wants him to. Because he's decided Stiles is safe. Because he can't be bothered to do otherwise, to control anything. He’s giving everything away.

"Shit, fuck, Der-...” Stiles isn't sure if what he gets is a moan or a noise of acknowledgment, but it does _things_ to his insides. That's why he feels so torn over what he has to say. “I gotta go to work." It sucks, and he's going to spend his day half hard, completely distracted and drawing hearts in the foam of every single drink he'll make because Derek is _back_ and Stiles instantly devolved to a school girl with a crush. Well. One with x rated thoughts –  like those who explained to him what Hentai is and write Twilight bestiality fics, except not at all.

It's really counterproductive, really, to let Derek push his shirt off his shoulders. But he already had it unbuttoned, so.... Still. It's a shame. Stiles had _just_ put it on. And he swears, ten minutes ago, it wasn't wrinkled at all, fresh out of his closet and everything. Now, it looks like he slept in it… _and_ wore it while wrestling Scott for the remote before that. Derek nips at his collar bone and dips down to- _holy shit_ , suck at his nipple. Stiles gasps, thankful for the weight of the other man holding him up. "No you don't."

Stiles pushes him off a fraction. "Dude-..."

Derek's eyes are dark with lust – and okay, it feels awesome to have someone look at you like this – but his expression grows more serious and fond when he meets Stiles' halfhearted glare. Stiles kind of hates the world if it decided it was okay for Derek to step back, to take his bulk off him. "No, I mean... you don't." Those strong hands that frogmarch criminals and handle firearms can be so gentle, featherlike touches at his hairline. "Old Jake is covering your shifts."

It takes a moment to process, because Derek is looking at him like-... like... And his palm caressing Stiles’ side shouldn't feel so fucking _familiar._ Hold on. What? "Come again?" … _Seriously, brain?_

Derek bites his lower lip timidly. It's ridiculous. Stiles is jealous of the man's teeth now. "For the next few days."

“Huh.” Derek badly needs to get shirtless, too. “Wait,” Something connects in Stiles' haze. He was always good with juggling multiple trains of thoughts. “you went to the Café?”

Derek’s fingers are warm and soft where they trace across Stiles' clavicles, then up and down the side of his neck. It makes him shiver. “How do you think I got this address?”

“… you're a cop.” Maybe he's watched too much Veronica Mars? Maybe cops need a valid reason to look someone up? Maybe 'getting Stiles Stilinski days off and kissing him breathless' isn't valid enough for some people of very poor taste?

Derek chuckles, smile soft and private. He seems content to stay close to him, trading soft touches and looking at him with _those eyes_ Stiles can't even comprehend. “Isaac said he, Old Jake and Hannah have everything covered.”

"Oh my god." Stiles bites his lip, overwhelmed. He tugs at Derek's clothes and mercifully, Derek slips a hand behind his own neck to tug his shirt and tank top off in one go. Stiles' mind goes blank for a couple of seconds. Jesus Christ! How is it that he gets to have this?! Derek looks – seriously?! _Shy?!_ It’s ludicrous, therefore Stiles chooses to ignore it and guides him in for a soft kiss instead. Derek has barely started to respond when the bar owner pulls back, eyes narrowed. “You went and talked to my old boss and my _team_ so you could... have me all to yourself?"

Derek's hand has stilled on his hip, and the pressure has decreased. No, no, no... That's not what Stiles want. Derek shouldn't be looking so hesitant about this.  “That was the idea. If you want."

"Fuck yeah." Stiles yanks him closer, chest-to-chest – and _oh my god_ , glorious skin-against-skin – hoping it will dispel any doubts Derek might have that _somehow_ , Stiles wouldn't be okay with any of this. As if!!

The best thing about the Moonrise Café, is his team. Because they are truly awesome.

He should make them a banner.

Once they've stopped teasing.

They kiss softly, Derek slotting himself back against Stiles where he belongs. Stiles trails lazy hands up Derek's arm and sides, laughing against the cop’s lips when he finds a ticklish spot. He's hard in his pants and he doesn't give a damn because he gets to touch all of Derek's skin. Gorgeous, exposed and _his_. Gets to loop his arm around the cop’s neck and swallow the groan it elicits. Derek nibbles at his ear until it effectively turns Stiles' legs into jello, then whispers. "You okay with waking up next to me tomorrow?"

That's nice, Stiles thinks drunkenly. It's barely noon, and he didn't plan on coming up for air anytime soon, either. He nudges Derek softly to get him to pull back and meet his eye. "You better mean that."

"I do.” Derek says, eyes roaming Stiles' face with a look of wonder in them. “Fuck, I do."

Stiles lets out a whimper and snakes his hands around him. Grinding their jean clad erections together, he digs his nails in the muscles at Derek's back to avoid simply clawing at him. Derek groans and crushes Stiles' hips in his hands at that. His pupils are blown when Stiles meets them with his gaze. “Tomorrow. Next week. Next month."

Derek shakes against him. “Yeah.”

Stiles makes sure both sides of Derek's neck taste the same, bites for good measure. "Just don't ever go undercover again."

There's a stutter in Derek's movements, and Stiles can feel the smirk coming, because they're just two giant dorks. "Well-..."

"My bed sheets _do not_ count,” he interrupts.

Derek laughs, stupid and happy, and Stiles is stuck taking in the sight. He is in so much trouble, addicted already. But Derek smiles, bashfully reaches out to slide their hands together, eyes locked on his, and maybe it’s okay. They’re in trouble together.

The best thing about Stiles' world... is definitely Detective Hale.


End file.
